The first class on the second morning was Professor Snape’s Potions class.
Still groggy, Harry felt someone nudging him.
It was Seamus’s voice.
“It’s Snape’s class today. You don’t want to get sprayed by his venom, do you?”
That was Ron’s voice.
“Venom?” Harry rubbed his eyes.
“Oh, I mean Snape,” Ron explained helpfully. “Fred and George say he looks like a bat in his long black robes.”
Harry couldn’t help it—he laughed.
At breakfast, Ron leaned over to Harry and whispered, “So, Harry, how was last night in the Forbidden Forest?”
“It was alright,” Harry shrugged, spreading baked beans on a slice of bread, then adding sausage and bacon. “The forest is dangerous, sure, but I made a new friend in there. After lunch, I’ll introduce you.”
“A new friend?” Ron perked up. “She? Is it... a centaur?”
“No, a unicorn,” Harry said with a mysterious smile.
“Cool...” Hermione, intrigued, leaned in. “How did you meet? I mean, I’ve read that unicorns generally only trust pure-hearted women. I didn’t think they’d befriend a boy.”
“Well, a dark wizard attacked her, and I just happened to pass by and saved her,” Harry said matter-of-factly.
“And how did you defeat a dark wizard?” Neville asked curiously.
“I hit him with a harmless little jinx,” Harry replied, taking a bite of his bread.
The tangy baked beans, combined with the distinct flavor of sausage and smoky bacon, made Harry feel a bit more alive after a night of emptiness in his stomach.
“What kind of jinx?” Hermione, ever-alert, narrowed her eyes.
“Oh, nothing major...” Harry hesitated.
Hermione’s expression turned serious. “You didn’t... oh no, Harry, you didn’t actually use—” Her voice faltered as if she couldn’t finish.
“Well, alright,” she conceded after a moment. “In a life-threatening situation, I suppose experimenting with spells isn’t entirely unreasonable. But... no one saw, right?”
“No,” Harry said. But then he suddenly remembered Fang.
Oh no. When leaving with Hagrid last night, he’d forgotten to bring along the unconscious Fang, who’d been hit by a Stunning Spell.
I hope he’s alright, Harry thought, layering scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, a slice of tomato, and cheese onto a piece of toast to make himself a satisfying sandwich.
Hermione frowned, bringing the conversation back. “But why would a dark wizard attack a unicorn? Unicorns are sacred and noble creatures. It’s an unforgivable act under any circumstances.”
“For their blood,” Harry said simply. “A centaur named Firenze told me that dark wizard was using unicorn blood to prolong his miserable life, just until he could get the Philosopher’s Stone to restore his power fully.”
“That explains it,” Hermione muttered. After thinking for a moment, she asked, “But here’s the real question: the Philosopher’s Stone is at Hogwarts. Who would dare steal it under Dumbledore’s nose?”
“There’s someone who’s been hiding in the shadows for years, desperate to return to power,” Harry replied, finishing his sandwich in three quick bites. “Who else could it be?”
“Who?” Ron asked, sipping his pumpkin juice.
“Voldemort,” Hermione whispered.
At the mention of the name, Ron’s hand slipped, and his pumpkin juice tumbled onto the table. Fortunately, the sturdy glass didn’t break, and most of the juice had already been drunk, sparing him from a mess.
Seamus gasped sharply, whether from the name or the revelation about Voldemort, while Neville went completely pale.
Among the five of them, only Hermione and Harry seemed unaffected by the name.
For Hermione, it was because she didn’t fully grasp the terror Voldemort had once inspired. Harry, on the other hand, simply didn’t see why Voldemort was worth fearing.
“This can’t be true!” Ron exclaimed, jumping to his feet. His sudden movement drew the attention of the entire Great Hall, and he quickly sat back down, lowering his voice. “It’s impossible! Dumbledore’s at Hogwarts—Voldemort wouldn’t dare!”
“What if Dumbledore isn’t at the school?” Hermione retorted. “The headmaster can’t be here all the time. If he leaves, that’s the perfect chance for Voldemort to strike! We have to warn Dumbledore!”
“Relax, Hermione,” Harry said absentmindedly. “Hagrid went to Dumbledore’s office last night to tell him everything.”
With that assurance, Hermione dropped the matter, though she still frowned.
Surely Dumbledore would take the necessary precautions.
After all, they couldn’t possibly expect first-year students to protect the Philosopher’s Stone, could they?
Potions class passed as usual under Professor Snape’s venomous gaze and sharp tongue. Even Hermione wasn’t spared this time—her distracted mind led her to accidentally add half an ounce too much bat liver.
When Harry managed to brew a perfect batch of Swelling Solution, Snape grudgingly added one point to Gryffindor.
But then, he promptly deducted five points because Neville burned his cauldron.
The Gryffindors were unfazed—losing points under Snape’s watch was practically a tradition.
Still, it didn’t stop Slytherin from being dead last in the House Cup race—mainly because Snape himself had docked 150 points from his own house earlier that term.
After class, Harry told Ron and the others to wait outside.
He needed a Blood-Replenishing Potion, and while he’d bought some in Diagon Alley before, it was no match for something brewed by a potions master like Snape.
Poppy deserved the best.
Snape noticed Harry lingering behind and smirked, his lips curling in that greasy, mocking way of his.
“Is there something you need, Potter?” he drawled. “Or has the great Savior of the Wizarding World come to consult his poor, old professor about some adolescent issue?
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